


Acceptable Apologies

by Anonymous



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: F/M, First Time, M/M, Sex, blowjob, handjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-01
Updated: 2013-12-01
Packaged: 2018-01-03 03:48:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1065409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Surviving Operation Pitfall has made Chuck Hansen a hero but it certainly hasn’t made him <i>nice</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Acceptable Apologies

**Author's Note:**

> http://pacificrimkink.livejournal.com/2747.html?thread=4310459#t4310459
> 
>  
> 
> _AU where both Becket boys survive that takes place after closing the breach. but Yancy wasn’t part of the final battle because he can’t pilot a jaeger anymore (permanent injury? same condition as Stacker? i don’t know). so when Raleigh drags Yancy along to a PPDC event, Chuck chokes on his wine because holy shit that ass never looked half as great on tv where have they been hiding the hot Becket brother_  
>  perfectly fine with background, implied or pre-relationship Mako/Raleigh. no Chuck/Raleigh.

Chuck is waiting for Mako when she comes down to the limousine.

“I’m your escort to the gala,” he tells her.

Mako frowns, that faint lowering of her brows that used to make him grin before he’d reach up to stroke it away with his thumb, making her catch at his hand and bat him away. His hand is halfway to her face in the old, intimate gesture before he catches it. Annoyed with himself, with her, Chuck turns the gesture into a twirl of the finger, indicating that she should turn around.

“What?” She doesn’t quite scowl at him when he twirls his finger again, but turns around, giving him a good look at the pretty blue-black thing that clings to her slim figure in a very attractive way. “What is it?”

“Something’s wrong.” He makes a point of studying her a moment longer through narrowed eyes. “Oh, wait, I know! You’re not trailing Becket like a _kaiju_ carcass. Trouble in paradise?”

Her disdainful glare makes him feel a lot better about being got up like a goddamned monkey. Needling Mako always makes him a little bit happy, even if it also makes him feel like a bit of a dickhead.

If she loosened up more, he reasons, he wouldn’t have to prod her so much.

A nasty little voice inside him remarks that she probably loosens up plenty for Raleigh Becket if the rumours about Becket’s glory days are true: anything with a pulse and a cunt. Which was only a little more picky than his brother, who was apparently okay with anything that breathed and could talk back at him – and there were no guarantees about the sheep.

Fucking American Rangers. _Literal_ Fucking American Rangers.

Mako has finished counting to ten in her head (Chuck’s always been pretty sure that’s what she’s doing when she freezer burns him; it’s that or mental dismemberment) and lifts her chin. “Raleigh has gone to get his brother from the airfield.”

“Oh, awesome,” Chuck grumbles. He’d heard the rumours; he’d hoped they were wrong. “Becket-the-bloody-annoying squared. Unless he’s not coming tonight?”

“They will be late.” Mako gives him a very hard look. “And you will be polite.”

“I’m always polite. For _my_ value of politeness.”

She mutters something uncomplimentary in Japanese, not quite under her breath. Chuck knows it’s uncomplimentary because he recognises the inflections and one or two of the less savoury words, even if his Japanese isn’t that good. Then she lifts her chin. “Are we waiting for your father?”

“Nope. Dad went ahead with the bigwigs. Come on,” he says gesturing towards the door that the limousine driver has opened for them. “Let’s get this circus done with.”

“You used to enjoy the circus.”

“Yeah,” Chuck growls, not particularly pleased to be reminded. “Well, that was then, this is now. Get in the goddamn limousine, or I’ll throw you in.”

Mako doesn’t point out that she could probably take him on and win – she’s not the sort to blow her own trumpet. But the look she gives him says she’s unimpressed by his threats.

Chuck tells himself he got over Mako’s disdain years ago.

Mostly, it’s the truth.

 

There are three perfectly good reasons for Chuck Hansen to escort Mako Mori around a PPDC gala event.

One. It keeps his dad off his back. Yeah, they’re on talking terms again, kind of, but the old man _hovers_. And worries. Chuck can feel it. And, yeah, he’s aware part of the anxiety is from Herc losing Pentecost and nearly losing him, too, but Chuck has his limits, and his dad playing mother hen is right up at the edge of them.

Hanging around with Mako makes Herc think Chuck’s being looked after – or, at least, that he has someone keeping an eye on him.

Two. It also gives Chuck the opportunity to play possessive neanderthal around Mako – something which he hasn’t really been able to do since he was seventeen and they were still on talking terms – well, sort of talking terms, anyway. It’s still as much fun as he remembers – a comment here, a distracting gesture there, leaning into her personal space, giving the guys coming around to chat her up the evil eye.

Unfortunately, four years have passed. Mako isn’t quite as clueless at twenty as she was at sixteen.

“Stop that,” she mutters after the young Senator excuses himself and beats a hasty retreat.

“Stop what?”

“You know exactly what.”

“If I knew exactly what, I wouldn’t be asking.”

Mako eyes him, suspicion in her gaze. Chuck tries to look innocent. That probably _also_ worked better four years ago. Then she looks beyond him and her expression brightens, like an internal light just switched on.

He groans, not needing to turn around to know who’s just walked into the room.

Third reason to hang around Mako during this thing? Chuck figured it would piss off Becket when he finally dragged that brother of his out of whatever hole Pentecost found them in two weeks ago.

Yeah, he’s grateful to Becket for the rescue outside Hong Kong and the backup during the run on the Breach – but Chuck sees none of that as a reason to take a trip to Politesville on the guy’s behalf.

Surviving Operation Pitfall – because Pentecost fucking overrode Striker’s escape pod commands, which even Becket The Bloody Perfect had more sense than to do to Mako – has made Chuck Hansen a hero but it certainly hasn’t made him _nice_.

 

Since he’s escorting Mako, there’s no avoiding either the Beckets or the attention.

However, Chuck manages to persuade Mako that it won’t kill her not to have the high priest of her order worship her the instant he walks in the door – and earns an unsubtle elbow in the gut for his phrasing.

“I’m serious. If there was a shrine at the door in your honour, he’d genuflect.”

“You are ridiculous,” Mako snaps, blushing all the way down her throat as she sips the glass of champagne.

Chuck takes a swig of his beer. “Nah, although he is.”

Becket has turned to see why his goddess isn’t walking towards him in a glowing cloud of light – or at all, really, and Chuck gives him a smirk and a cheery wave. Then elbows Mako without even needing to look at her to know she’s just lit up like a Christmas tree.

“Stop that,” she says, her mouth pursed in pretty displeasure.

“Make me.”

But she’s not paying attention to him anymore, and Chuck silently curses, because now Becket is headed towards them, direct as a K-stunner warhead, with his brother coming along behind, somewhat slower.

It’s been a few years since Chuck last saw Yancy Becket – just after the brothers left the PPDC – medical discharge. He remembers tall and built and blond: pretty much a variant of Becket – ugh, he’s going to have to start calling the guy by _name_ , isn’t he? – but with a better smile. Not so cocky.

Not so built anymore, either. One might almost say gone to seed – except that Chuck wouldn’t, not watching the way the Becket brothers saunter across the room. The man’s a bit thinner, moves with a slight hitch in his stride – a bit like Gottlieb, really – but it doesn’t make him awkward. Somehow, it makes him seem…dangerous. Kind of hot in a lazy, I-could-lie-here-in-bed-all-day-but-I’m-just-getting-up-to-fetch-you-back way.

Chuck watches, appreciating the fit of a good suit and the way it hangs off strong shoulders and lean hips.

“Hey,” says Becket, grinning at Mako like he didn’t see her just two hours ago – probably naked given how these two bunny it up. And Mako smiles back as though there’s nobody else in the room. “Yancy, this is Mako Mori.”

“His _other_ co-pilot,” Yancy ribs with a sly wink at Mako before he bows his head in a greeting. “My Japanese isn’t good, so I’ll spare you the attempt.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Yancy.”

“I doubt that, since you have all my trauma rolling around in your head, but I appreciate the lie.” The grin is brilliant, and something in Chuck lurches at the sight of it.

_Oh, shit._

When Chuck was fifteen, he had a crush on Yancy Becket – a small and very brief crush that ended when Knifehead got the better of Gipsy Danger and the Becket brothers retired. It’s nothing big - hundreds of thousands of teenagers crushed madly on Yancy and Raleigh Becket and they grew out of it eventually. Now Chuck’s twenty-one, a hero of the Battle of the Breach, and a piloting legend in his own right. He’s the guy being crushed on, not the guy having crushes. And yet…

The way Raleigh Becket smiles at Mako makes Chuck want to punch him in the face.

The way Yancy Becket smiles at Mako makes Chuck want to punch _her_ in the face.

 

He’s distracted enough to nearly miss Becket introducing him. “Chuck Hansen, Striker Eureka pilot.”

“The one with the hot dad.”

Chuck doesn’t quite choke as he shakes Yancy Becket’s hand – strong grip, but no competition. “Jesus, of all the things I did _not_ need to hear!”

“Seconded,” Becket notes, but his brother just laughs.

“I bet Mako agrees with me.”

This time Chuck really does choke. Because Mako _did_ have a crush on his dad when they were teenagers – which Chuck thought was utterly disgusting. Although not quite as disgusting as his dad’s fondness for Mako, which, while remaining firmly within the boundaries of propriety when it came to his interaction with her, occasionally drifted into explicit territory in his head. Part of that’s Chuck’s fault – after all, Chuck’s the one with the memory of Mako telling him to use his tongue— But that’s not something he particularly likes to remember, mostly for how it turned out. Or didn’t.

“You are a troublemaker,” Mako is telling Yancy.

“But I’m right.” Yancy smirks at his brother. “Go get me a drink, Rals. Hard.” A hand closes around Mako’s wrist as Becket opens his mouth to ask if she’ll come with him. “But leave Miss Mori to keep me company.”

Mako laughs and coaxes Becket down for a kiss – not that he needs much coaxing. Chuck rolls his eyes, then realises he’s being watched by Becket-the-elder and answers the lift of the eyebrow. “You spend enough time around these two, you get the whole peep show.”

“So I see. Let Mako breathe instead of chewing her face off, Raleigh, and go get me a drink.”

“I should have left you in Anchorage.” But Becket sounds more amused than annoyed. He looks to Chuck and indicates the beer. “Another?”

“If you’re getting it.”

Becket rolls his eyes but starts for the bar.

“Hey, kid?” Yancy’s smirking call turns Becket on his heel. “You never said she was gorgeous!”

“That was wicked of you,” Mako says as her co-pilot gives his brother the finger.

“Yeah, it was.” And again, the grin lurches something in Chuck’s belly. “I’m the better Becket, you know. Come with me and we could rule the galaxy together.”

Chuck snorts. The better Becket quotes bad sci-fi. Figures.

“I do not think that the galaxy is ready for us.” Mako manages to sound solemn, although her mouth twitches suspiciously. “But I will keep your offer in mind, thank you.”

She sounds so prim and precise, but Yancy is looking at her with good-natured appreciation. “God, I wish I’d seen you first.”

“And _I_ do not get a say in it?”

“I’m counting on my ineffable charm to carry me through.”

“Your ineffable charm is broken. Or I am immune.”

“Damn.” Then Yancy turns to Chuck with a speculative look.

“I’m waiting for someone to sweep me off my feet.” Chuck makes sure he sounds lazy and casual and not like his blood is pounding in his ears and his balls. “Bet you couldn’t even manage Mako.”

“If I tried, she’d probably punch my lights out. And then my brother would have to defend my honour.”

“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen. Becket knows to keep Mako happy. Ow!” He steps away, rubbing his ribs where Mako elbowed them. “It’s only the truth!”

“And she thinks _I’m_ the troublemaker,” says Yancy with a grin in Chuck’s direction.

 

It’s a PPDC event so there’s dinner and schmoozing, a few people willing to dance out in the floor – mostly the people who brought plus-ones – and no public. Not even the press.

Which is a pity, because a quickie with some pretty, forgettable Jaegerfly journo would get Chuck’s mind firmly off Yancy Becket. Unfortunately, there’s nothing to distract him from the easy smile and the lazy eyes and the saunter that presses every button Chuck has, and a few besides.

He’s polite. He’s pretty sure he even manages to be kind of friendly without crossing any lines.

Except that Becket collars him as he’s on his way for a breath of fresh air outside. “I want a word with you.”

“That’s six. You’re five over so far.”

Becket’s expression tightens, and Chuck figures he’s in for a ‘back away from Mako’ speech. Which, okay, he’s been hoping for but not really expecting. The guy’s Drift-compatible with Mako, after all, and Mako – whatever her faults – is not the cheating kind. Besides, she’s barely given Chuck a second look while Becket is around – and if she’s not smiling at him, she’s flirting with his brother.

“If you have a problem with me, you bring it to me,” Becket says, all cool and calm and composed – but Chuck’s been on the end of a surprise fist from the guy; he’s ready for what’s coming. “You don’t involve my brother in it, okay?”

Except he’s _not_ ready. At all.

“Whoa,” Chuck splutters. “The fuck? I’m not—”

“You’re measuring him up,” Becket says bluntly. “Looking for weaknesses – the way you did with me the first day in the Shatterdome.”

“I was not—” Chuck begins – only he _was_ sizing Becket up that first day and they both know it. And he’s been sizing Yancy Becket up, too – although not for the same reasons. No way is he going to say _that_ to Becket, though. “If I have an issue with you, _Rahleigh_ , I’m not going to pick a fight with your brother. Not my style.”

Becket gives him a hard look. “You insulted Mako after the Gipsy Danger test to get to me.”

Chuck snorts. “Don’t flatter yourself. You know Mako and me have history.”

“I know Mako would never have thrown the first punch,” Becket replies grimly. “And so do you. But Yancy’s not a part of this, so if you want to make a point, you make it to me.”

“And Mako?”

“Mako will hold her own,” comes the reply as Becket turns away. “You should know that.”

There’s a moment when Chuck’s tempted to take the guy down and go round two, just for the hell of it. His better sense prevails, and instead he stalks outside to take a breath of cool air and wish for a smoke. He never got into the habit, but a long pull every now and then is a comfort.

Fucking Rahleigh Becket. Getting it so completely wrong that the only way he could have gotten it more wrong was if he thought Chuck wanted to fuck _him_.

Although it’s a thought...

“Mind if I join you?”

Chuck’s breath hitches, and he blinks at the shadowed figure who leans against railing beside him – Yancy Becket with a lazy smile and a bright challenge in his eyes when he looks at Chuck.

Of all the balconies of all the function rooms in the world...

“Sure,” he says, as off-hand as he can manage. “Go for your life.”

 

“Nice to get out of the crowd,” Yancy notes. “It’s been a while since I had to attend one of these things. I’d forgotten how tiring they are.”

“Hasn’t been anything like this for a couple of years,” Chuck says after a moment. “PPDC hasn’t exactly been the UN’s favourite for a while.”

“Thanks to those inferior pilots who brought down the Jaeger program?” The glance shot his way is distinctly malicious.

Chuck bites his lip. “Look, about that—”

Yancy waits, brows arched. “We know we failed,” he says when Chuck fails to find the words he wants to say– he’s not even sure what he wants to say “Those of us who survived know it and live with it every day. You didn’t need to rub it in.”

It wasn’t rubbing it in. Chuck knows his cheeks are pink and that it was a stupid, arrogant thing to say. He knew that even as the words came out of his mouth. But he’d said it – and on television, no less – and then he couldn’t very well go and _un-_ say it, could he?

“I’m—” He hesitates, staring at the tiles that stretch from under their feet towards the still-open doors leading into the function room, then plunges on, grim and determined. “I’m sorry.”

It matters that he says this now – to Yancy. He doesn’t know why.

Silence. He dares a glance up, and finds Yancy watching him with a wary, measuring expression. “I can’t tell if you’re really sorry or just saying that because someone’s called you out on it.”

“Does it matter?”

“Yeah, it matters.” The rich voice is icy. “Because if you’re just saying it then you’re every inch the dickhead my brother thinks you are.”

“And if I mean it?”

“You might be human.” Teeth flash whitely in the low light. “With a bit of work and another five years of life experience.”

Chuck opens his mouth to protest. Shuts it again. Settles for growling, “So what do you want, Becket? Me on my knees, prostrate before you?”

As a slow and wicked grin spreads across Yancy’s face, Chuck realises what he’s said. Goddamn fucking Freudian slips. His face is hot and his balls are pulsing – and for a moment he doesn’t know where to look, before it hits him that Becket isn’t exactly looking cool, calm, and unruffled. His gaze drops – and yeah, there’s definitely things on the move in the package department.

“It’d be a start,” Yancy says in a voice that purrs like velvet across Chuck’s senses.

Something in Chuck snaps. “Fine,” he snarls, all caution gone. “Find us a room and I’ll give you an apology on my knees. With _great_ pleasure.”

At first he thinks Yancy’s gone into shock - the man’s so still, the flush in his cheeks high and bright against the pale skin. Then Yancy shivers, and his gaze runs down the length of Chuck’s body. Chuck’s stomach clenches. Oh, yes. _This_ is what he wanted – that hot, intense look stripping him down.

Yancy stands and crooks a finger. “I know just the place.”

Chuck follows him back in to the function room, his pulse hammering at his wrists and balls, his lungs too tight to breathe.

American Jaeger pilots fucking anything with a pulse that can talk back at them.

And it looks like Chuck Hansen fits Yancy Becket’s bill – with a side of penitence.

 

He’s not sure exactly where they’re going – or how Yancy knows about this space. It looks like a small tea-room – six by seven – a row of chairs against one wall, tea-making facilities along the other, a row of locked doors leading somewhere else, and the door they’ve entered by.

“Wedge a chair back under the door handle,” Yancy tells him as he closes the door behind him.

“Seriously?”

“Unless you like an audience?” Chuck stills, and his belly lurches at the thought of crawling on his knees in front of— He shakes it off, but Yancy’s turned at the silence and is looking at him in disbelief. “Fuck, but you’re a piece of work.”

“Stick with the fucking,” Chuck tells him as he sticks the nearest chair under the door handles. “Save the insults.”

“So private punishment but not public humiliation?” Yancy seats himself and stretches out his legs. “Interesting. Have you been a naughty boy, Mr. Hansen?”

“One,” Chuck says as he turns, well aware that Yancy is watching him. “You call me ‘Mr. Hansen’, I’m gonna think you’re calling for my dad. Two. If you start calling for my dad while I’m blowing you, I’m walking out. Are we clear?”

“And they say the hedgehog can never be buggered at all,” Yancy murmurs. “Crystal clear, _Chuck_. Now come here. No,” he says, catching Chuck’s wrist when Chuck’s about to get down on his knees. “Stand up. I like to see what I’m getting.”

“You’ve been looking all night,” Chuck growls, but puts his shoulders back and his chin up and lets himself be studied. “Are you done?”

“Not even close.” The blond head tilts. “Undo your shirt.”

The words are soft, almost hypnotic. Chuck has a sudden inkling of that voice urging him on while he kneels, starkers, between Yancy’s thighs, with Yancy’s cock in his mouth, Yancy’s hips jerking under his hands, Yancy’s seed flooding his tongue...

His cock is nearly fully hard, and his hands shake as he takes off his suit jacket and starts undoing the buttons on his shirt.

“Just leave it open,” Yancy says when he moves to take it off. “Now the belt.”

Chuck fumbles the belt, wondering why he’s doing this, why he’s undressing for this guy who doesn’t even like him, who he insulted and—is this going to be a humiliation after all? Will there be a signal on which half the PPDC will walk into the room and—

Hands cover his, stopping his attempts to unbuckle himself. “You’re making me feel like a dirty letch.” Yancy’s voice is quiet. “Which, yeah, I probably am. But if I’m going to have your mouth on my dick, I’d like to think that you actually want it, not that I’ve forced you into it.”

He looks Yancy in the eye. “You’re not forcing me to do anything. Okay? Nobody forces me.”

He gets the belt undone, and the buttons, and the zipper of his fly. But when he reaches for his jockeys, Yancy’s pushing him away, his fingers stroking under the waistband, easing the fabric away from Chuck’s cock which springs free and erect.

Chuck lets Yancy take a good look at him. “Good enough for you?”

Yancy grins. “Yep.” And his hand closes around Chuck’s cock.

 

If there was anywhere Chuck thought about ending tonight, it was in the bed of some girl who wanted to show her appreciation for his efforts in saving the world. Someone pretty, dark-haired, and eager to fuck him.

Standing mostly undressed in a side room at a PPDC function, with Yancy Becket’s hand wrapped around his cock was nowhere in the plan.

It wasn’t even in an alternate realm of fantasy possibilities, let alone this universe.

“What are you doi—?” Chuck swallows the question when Yancy starts stroking him. Slow and gentle – no lube, no spit – nothing to slick the friction made by slightly rough fingers and palm working him from base to tip. “I thought _I_ was going to blow _you_.”

“You are,” comes the answer, beneath a lazy smile. “ _After_ I’ve taken the edge off you, and had the pleasure of watching you come apart in my hands.”

Chuck draws in a deep breath. Holds it as Yancy reaches the swollen tip. Expels it, soft and shuddering, as the hand slides back down again – exquisite sensation and aching pleasure.

“This is your idea of punishment?”

“Well, I like to think of it as reciprocity.”

Up and down, every nerve electric, every sense spinning. Chuck sees black spots in front of his eyes and then reminds himself to breathe. Yancy’s watching him with a gleaming, gloating expression. “You’re such a kitten,” he murmurs as he tugs and rubs and smooths. “Spit and claw and scratch and bite – but just stroke your belly...”

“Anatomy lesson: that’s not my _belly_ —” Then he hisses as Yancy leans in and licks his abdomen, low and diagonal, parallel to the line of muscle that runs over his hip. A warm wet tongue, so close—

“Put your hands on the wall,” Yancy tells him, the words a husky whisper of air across the damp stripe on Chuck’s belly, shivering down his spine. “And hold on tight...”

Yancy palms the tip of Chuck’s cock, rough enough that the world flashes white before colour bleeds back in. Chuck makes a noise in his throat and Yancy’s laugh echoes in his ears as the hands around his cock start working him hard. Long, firm strokes, gentle squeezes, and every now and then the swipe of a thumb across the swollen and sensitive tip.

Chuck pants and grunts and groans and tries not to listen too closely to the voice in his ears, admiring his cock, taunting his reactions, demanding his response as the pleasure and the pressure builds...

“I’m going to make a mess,” he manages.

Yancy’s thumb rolls over the tip again, nearly setting him off. _So close, Jesus, so close..._ “No,” says the velvet voice, lilting and laughing. “You’re not.”

And then Chuck nearly screams as his cock is sucked into a warm, wet mouth and a tongue slides thickly across the head. His world is blind fire, every nerve. He makes some noise, choked and desperate, and then Yancy sucks _harder_ and his fingers are squeezing Chuck’s balls and oh, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck_...

He doesn’t know how long he comes, or when he takes one hand off the wall to scrape his fingers across Yancy’s scalp. But when he can breathe and think again, his legs are shaking like he’s been piloting Striker Eureka for a twenty-hour handshake, no breaks.

He starts to go down to his knees but is caught by warm hands and drawn in to straddle Yancy’s lap. The bastard watches him tremble with an exultant satisfaction in the blue eyes, and a wicked smile on his lips as he surveys his handiwork – Chuck Hansen, undressed and undone.

And Chuck sees why in the gloating smirk, in the fingertips that stroke into the hollow of his breastbone and slide down in tender bisection – all the way down to the tip of his cock which tingles under the soft and sensuous touch.

“Satisfied?” He manages a growl, however breathless.

Yancy grins. “Not even close. But you’re about to see to that, aren’t you?”

 

When Chuck shrugs off his jacket and shirt, he glimpses the surprise he wants to see in Yancy’s face. When he strips the rest of his clothing off, the look is pure hunger.

It stirs something in his belly, and he smirks as he kneels between Yancy’s thighs. “Like what you see?”

“It’s pretty enough.” But a pulse in Yancy’s throat is jumping, and the cool-and-composed expression is wearing thin. Plus, his cock is tenting his trousers, and under the fabric Chuck skims as his draws his hands up Yancy’s thighs, Chuck feels the muscles quiver.

“So,” he says conversationally, “Are you one of those grabby types?”

“Not if you don’t want me to be.”

“Just checking so I’ll have an idea if I’m going to end up in a fucklock.” He trails his thumbs over the swell in the fabric and watches Yancy take a slow, uneven breath.

“I might touch your head, but I won’t hold you down.” Significant pause. “Unless you _like_ being held down.”

“Depends on the person doing the holding down,” Chuck says, deliberately offhand as he works at Yancy’s belt. The short jerk of the chest beneath the shirt is the response he wanted, and he’s hard-pressed not to smirk as he pops buttons, and inches down the zip – carefully, because what’s underneath isn’t small. “Jesus, got enough here, you think?”

“Beckets are built big.”

“No shit.” Chuck briefly wonders how the hell Mako—Yeah, not somewhere he needs to go right now. He eases Yancy’s cock out, and stifles a grin at the hitch of breath, the suppressed grunt as he strokes his fingers down the shaft, from tip to base to tip again. Then he replaces his fingers with his mouth and hums in satisfaction at the raw, urgent noise that Yancy makes in his throat.

He strokes his tongue down the length of Yancy’s cock and listens to the raw edges of that noise tear into hoarse desperation.

Chuck lets his lashes flutters down, and in answer, works his way back up to the head in a slow, sinuous motion. He lingers over every twitch, every hitch, every squirm of the hips until he’s at the tip, where he swipes his tongue across the glans.

Yancy groans as he lifts his mouth off, and his eyes are hazy and intense. “Fuck, but you’ve got a clever mouth on you.”

Licking his lips draws attention to his mouth – wet and a little swollen. And Chuck smirks up at Yancy. “And I haven’t even gotten to the main attraction yet...”

Holding the no-longer-lazy gaze, he takes the tip of Yancy’s cock into his mouth, and begins to work it with tongue and cheeks and lips. One hand on Yancy’s hip keeps him from writhing too hard, and that’s going to be really important in a moment because Chuck needs to take a second to prepare himself before...

He nearly chokes on the length and width of it – goddamn but the man is fucking _huge_ – but it’s worth it to hear Yancy’s strangled shout, to know that he’s blowing Yancy Becket’s mind at the same time as he’s blowing his cock.

And it feels bloody fantastic, even to draw back so he can breathe again, so he can continue to work Yancy to a fine froth until the man comes like a freight train, spilling into Chuck’s mouth with his hands clawing at the chair edges on either side of him.

Chuck swallows every drop like it’s water in the desert.

Then he sits back on his naked haunches and surveys his handiwork – from the flushed and reddened cheeks, to the well-licked and softening cock on Yancy’s thigh.

Yeah, he’s good.

 

He catches Yancy watching him as he gets dressed, and spends a moment longer adjusting himself in his briefs before sliding his trousers on and pulling on his shirt.

Chuck will admit he likes being admired; and the hot and still-hungry look in Yancy’s eyes does wonders for his ego. And a part of him thinks he’d like to be asked back for an encore sometime. Asked to undress slowly, to get down on his knees, to be _good_...

But nothing’s said as he buttons up his shirt and tucks himself in. The creases aren’t so noticeable once he has the jacket on, and he sits down next to Yancy to pull on his shoes and socks, feeling the older man’s eyes on him.

But when he turns, the heat in Yancy’s eyes kicks something in Chuck’s belly. “That’s some apology,” Yancy murmurs.

Chuck snorts and assays a smirk. “Would you believe I’ve had lots of practice?”

The hand that strokes his cheek is unexpected, and Chuck fights not to lean into it. “I’d be happy to give you more.”

His breath catches, but a part of him holds back, reluctant to sound too eager. “Take a number and join the queue. But I’ll definitely consider it.”

The hand drops from his cheek. Chuck shoots Yancy the cocky grin that pissed his brother off the first time they spoke in the Shatterdome mess hall. He receives the same measuring gaze in return – although this time tempered by heat and hunger instead of Becket’s cold dislike.

He’s at the door, unhooking the chair from beneath the handle when Yancy speaks again – the soft, hypnotic tones of the guy who fucked anything he liked and made anything he fucked like it. “Think of me the next time you jerk yourself off, Chuck.” The smile is deep and knowing, lazy and lucious. “I’ll be thinking of you.”

And Chuck has no clever retort – no quick quip to counter – just an exit.

He takes the exit.

 _It’s a one-off encounter,_ Chuck tells himself as he gets a beer for himself and one for his dad. _It doesn’t have to be anything more_.

But for the rest of the night, his heart pounds in his chest every time Chuck glimpses Yancy’s blond head and hitched stride across the room.

 

 


End file.
